Those Little Things
by MidnightStarr
Summary: Oliver wrestles with the hardest choice he's ever had to make in life, and he can only hope that the closest thing he has to friends will stand behind him.


**MS: **I'm not sure if I've ever truly written something totally Majestic-themed; so here it is. This oneshot is very close to my heart because it reminds me of a time when I had to stand back and watch as someone I really cared about had to admit to the hardest decision of his life. He's so happy now, and it makes me smile when I read this! I hope you enjoy _Those Little Things. _Oh and please do visit the Beyblade poll on my profile if you have time!

* * *

He was so scared.

Oliver paced. And paced. And paced.

A few minutes passed.

He kept pacing.

By the time the hour he'd spent waiting for their flight to arrive had ticked by, he was almost sure that his expensive marble flooring had been noticeably worn down. The poor boy had practically rutted a hole right through the foundations of his home.

Ah, his home... How many hours had he spent walking the floors here, running his mind over every little thing? Oliver paused, finally, and with hands clasped behind his back he looked up at the towering rafters of his study. The marble where he treaded was a delicate sea green shade that had been sparkled with flecks of black, silver, and a snow white that reminded him of the ice Paris rarely saw in the winter months. The flooring extended upward into marble seams inlain into the thick, sound-proof walls of the room in thin lines; the flecks of color now only demure blurs that seemed to make the green marble a bold, yet striking sight against the frost white walls. Spruce, all authentic and economically cut from Canada. The marble continued its trail upward, a trek that arched out into the hallowed top of the study until the chains of aqua met in the middle where they bled downward into a chandelier made of the finest Swarovski crystals.

He'd designed it. All of it.

Oliver drew in a deep breath. The only other place in his home he was half as satisfied with as this room was the palace kitchen. All state of the art equipment; stainless steel, unblemished and shining and tasting _delicious._

'_Hm; come to think, the boys will probably be hungry once they arrive. It _is _midday, an afternoon meal would set things off perfectly.'_

Oliver wandered over to his intercom system, pressed a button and hit the cafeteria downstairs. If he'd had more time, if he didn't just... Make this decision last night, he would've prepared them something himself and been more ready this morning.

Not ready for everything... Never ready for all. But ready to pretend this meeting was not going to change the way the world looked at him forever.

"Yes Master Polanski?"

"Yes Jaque. Sirs McGregor, Giancarlo and Jurgen will be arriving shortly. I want you to prepare Jonathon a t-bone, rare with parmesan seasoning and barbeque. Smoked initially, choose a cut from the batch received last week."

"Yes sir. And for the other members?"

"Enrique will have atlantic lobster. Do not deshell yourself, you know Enrique's proclivities. Blue cheese and melted butter at the side, brush the belly with garlic. And Robert and I will have tomato alfredo, chopped chicken; and stir in that new collection of herbs I bottled from China will you? Ray Kon says they're apparently magnificent. Must give them a try."

"Right away Master Polanski. Not joining us in the kitchen today yourself, your majesty?"

"...No. Not today, Jaque."

"Very well."

Oliver waited for the beep that let him know that his staff was finished on the other end and had hung up. Only the sound didn't come.

"...Yes, Jaque? What is it?"

"Pardon me your grace, but, drinks...?"

Oliver cringed and could've smacked himself in the face. Jesus, today was truly tearing the good right out of him. Good thing he wasn't cooking... He'd have burnt the goddamn place down.

"Right right... Forgive me, Jaque. I'm not at my best today. A round of unsweetened Gyukuro for Robert and myself, a Skyy with lemonade for En rique and a scotch and tonic for Jonathon."

"Right away, your majesty. Oh, and Master Polanski?"

"Yes?"

"I don't believe you should worry-... Nevermind. Forgive me sir, t'was not my place. I'll begin the preparations immediately."

Oliver took in a deep breath. Again. But he nodded his head to center himself, and spoke.

"Yes, Jaque."

Then the lime-haired Majestic released the button on the intercom and relinked his hands behind his back.

Time to pace, and pace some more.

Oliver was unsure about the number of times he revised what he would say in his head, going over it and going over it more than the damn tiles beneath his feet. Nothing ever sounded right. Nothing sounded perfect, _nothing_ seemed like it would win the favor of his teammates.

Since his fourth world championship, Oliver could modestly admit to his team's growth. Of course they had yet to win; the BladeBreakers still claimed that title. Whether it was a loss to the Barthez Battalion, an early elimination like in his second year, or a knockout by the AllStarz in the past month of September, the Majestics had stood strong and vigilante. They were still the best beybladers in Europe, and while they were not the best globally, sometimes being _that good anyways_ amounted to enough.

Over that time, much of it was spent with his friends. Of course he had his work friends, being the team; and then he had his social friends, being his playmates and besties of France. But most of the teams were like that, even the BladeBreakers; when tournament season was off they seldom spent every moment together. But they hadn't needed to, to be as close as they were. Once upon a time, Oliver could remember the notion of having teammates being bizarre, and foreign.

Yet, here they were-

The study doors were pushed open by his bowing greeter. Robert, Johnny and Enrique strolled into the study. Things had changed and his team had gotten a little better at being a team: but some things never faltered.

Johnny yawned loudly, pulled out an elegant-backed chair so roughly that it skidded on the floor and plopped himself down. "What's up?"

Robert waited for Oliver's attending to pull out his chair for him; Enrique was fine on his own.

His purple-haired leader crossed his arms and crossed one leg, then looked at Oliver interestingly. "I have to admit, when you called and said to make haste last night, we were a bit worried."

The blonde member of his team looked a little more the part; Enrique never could hide his emotions gracefully. "Is everything alright? Do we have a new important challenge or something? Is there a war about to start?! Civil war in France?!"

Oliver widened his eyes. "Good god no!"

Enrique sighed in relief. "Thank heavens for that because, we were really brainstorming the worst on the trip over here."

His teammate's familiar attitude managed to soothe Oliver's nerves a bit and he shot Enrique a sarcastic, but warm look. Of course his friend knew better, but it _was _out of character for Oliver not to give his team a week's notice before expecting a visit. They were all busy people. So maybe Enrique could be forgiven for his foolishness.

Oliver pulled out his own seat at the head of the table just as the study doors swung open again. Two silver platters were placed on the table, one with their cups and another with the covered faucets of their meals. Johnny inhaled the rich aroma and grinned.

"Gotta say Oliver, you know me too well."

He lifted the lid from his serving plate. If there was one damn thing that made Johnny grateful for Oliver's presence on the team, it was the kid's cooking. Because _god. damn._ Soon he'd picked up his steak knife and the proper fork and set to work. Oliver smiled; Johnny really did dress like a buffoon, and he sort of ate like Tyson... Inhaling anything in a hundred-mile radius. Especially if Oliver cooked it. But he _did _have table manners... Something the World Champ lacked terribly.

Robert and Enrique were close behind. No need for thank-yous; this sort of preparation was expected, really. All four young men were bright, rich, and able to provide the best for their guests. And having grown up the way they did, Oliver knew himself that they expected the best from him.

...Exactly why this was all going to go right to hell in a handbasket.

He lifted his steaming mug of tea, one of the most expensive in the world, and sipped at the sweet flavor. Tea calmed him, it truly did; not so much the caffeine as the smell, the sight of the leaves and remnants of the steeping swirling in the bottom of his mug.

Robert seemed to be enjoying his cup as well, but soon he opened his mouth and Oliver knew that he couldn't hide forever.

"Enough with the suspense. You're doing poorly to rest-assured our nerves."

Oliver lowered his mug almost too quickly; he lost his grip with the slender curl of the handle, and it fell to the floor. His $150 cup of tea was lost and he cursed; again, another move that made his friends somewhat uneasy. Oliver was as refined as Robert, maybe moreso.

For him to lose his favorite tea on the floor... Now, they were worried.

Johnny even stopped eating, sat up straight and crossed his arms. Enrique put down the tiny silver spoon made specifically for reaching into the smallest of lobster crevices. Robert did not look impressed.

"Oliver..." Enrique watched him stammer, open his mouth and close it again and the artist beyblader was absolutely aghast with a sudden fear that threatened to rip out his insides. It burned hotter than the tea that had somewhat scorched his legs and no doubt, he was as red as the cooked crawdad's shell by now. "What's wrong?"

Oliver brushed off the dampness of the tea with a scoff.

He could do this... He had to do this... _'Mother and Father had been fine. They'd cried, but at the end of the day they had been fine. They would persevere. My friends... Please, don't hate me for this.'_

He sat himself back down so gingerly he seemed to be in pain.

He put his hands together on the solid oak table, and clasped his fists. His plate, this entire time had gone untouched. They picked up on that, too."

"What I'm about to tell you, will have ramifications."

Like no more hiding his calendars, his stash.  
Like not pretending to notice his athletic competitors.  
Like not... Hating himself, every minute of the day.

_Like causing worldwide upset and humiliation._

"And what are these ramifications?" Robert placed his mug back down. Shit was serious now.

"Let me explain first."

"Are you quitting the team?"

Johnny's question caught him off-guard.

"I... That remains to be seen."

Johnny's back straightened in his seat, and he laid down his knife. More seriousness, dear jesus.

Oliver closed his eyes. Inside the beat of his heart was so loud it was giving him a headache. The stories, the scandals, the outrage... He could handle that, from the rest of the world.

When he opened them again, he kept repeating the same silent plea inside his mind.

"My friends... I have to tell you something. And I hope with all my heart that it won't change how you picture me as I sit with you now. I will try my hardest not to let it change me... But I have to be true to who I am."

Heads tilted, and his heart sped up even more.

"I can't promise you that things will continue on exactly as they have been... Because I will not be the same inside."

By now he could read the visible worry on his teammate's faces and for just a nanosecond their compassion was so touching that it made a palpable bandaid to the beating of his chest. But that was short-lived. He'd best... Just come right out with it.

"Mother and Father have been informed."

Oliver took the longest, deepest, most serrated breath he could've ever imagined.

"Friends... I'm-..." The words paused on his tongue and flew away for a second like they were a dream he would never get to achieve. But he caught them before they escaped his reach and held them there; Oliver held them there, like he held the power of Unicolyon in his hands. "I'm gay. I... I'm gay. I like-... Men. I like men, and I'm gay."

The room was silent. So silent.

Oliver closed his eyes and waited for the killing blow.

_'Please, my friends... I can take the hatred, I can take the loneliness from the rest of the world. They can laugh, and point, and stare and say what they want to me. Anything, I don't care!... But I cannot, take it from you.'_

...

The sound of a lobster shell cracking brought his lavender-colored irises to light again. He turned his attention to Enrique who had placed the big claw of his dinner into the cracker and was squeezing. Then the sound of a tinkling to his left, and Oliver whipped his head around to find his team captain stirring his tea... Raising the cup to his lips and taking a sip.

"That's it? Are you serious, that's it?"

Oliver nearly gaped like a fish down at his red-headed companion.

"I..."

"Oliver you really didn't believe that we were under no impression of your orientation, did you?"

Oliver just stared. He stared at Robert like his team captain had grown a second head right out of some Amphilyon-like nightmare.

"You... You knew, I-.. You know, and you don't... Seem to care?"

Enrique whooped as he finally succeeded in breaking apart the clamper claw. "Oliver, with all due respect you're hardly the most in-the-closet gay person we've met."

"I don't understand..."

"Dude; you dress like Elton John with better brand names and your family armour was tinted purple. Your bitbeast is a goddamn _unicorn_ Oliver you might as well piss glitter."

Again his eyes were redirected towards Johnny. "...You knew..."

"I'm quite sure that mostly everyone knows, Oliver." Back to Robert. "It's sort of an open secret. From mostly you. Honestly lad do you truly think this cooking, the art, the way you seem just a little too enamored by the finer little things in life would slip past us? We are the _Majestics_ Oliver; we _live _under a microscope and that was before we became a champion beyblading team. Now we just have a higher number of extremely delusional fan girls who will cry themselves to sleep if/when you choose to make a public announcement."

"But on the one hand we'll gain an entirely new group of supporters." Robert nodded towards Enrique's suggestion.

"True."

Oliver was so floored that he could mentally envision the tiles of marble rebuilding themselves like the blocks of notre dame sifting into place, replacing what had been worn down by the increasing weight of his shoes, day after day, year after year, battle after constant horrible battle.

"This... You can't be saying that this won't change things." He shook his head slowly. Too good to be true, too good-

"Of course it will change things." Robert took another sip of tea; Johnny sliced off another hunk of steak and shoved it into his maw. The German captain looked his startled teammate over. Oliver was the youngest but by a few months to Enrique, and he looked the part now more than ever. "The BBA will want to make a bit of a poster child out of you I'm sure. But we will need to take measures for increased security; I don't trust everyone, and we all know that while the majority of the world will continue to love you as a chef, an artist, a beyblader... That some will not. I will not have you being made a public mockery of and I will not have your life in jeopardy."

Oliver sat and thought everything over. He thought it over well and good. He watched his friends eat their food, watched them smile and chuckle across the long table like they sat much closer then the brown boards allowed. Yes... Things had changed, hadn't they. They'd gotten a little better at being a team, it was true. Not perfect yet; not that close. But someday, maybe.

"Oh, and make sure that whatever guy you decide to go for isn't one of those shmucks who wears nothin' but rainbows. Because you dress bright enough as it is and I ain't walkin' around like we're a travelling light show."

He laughed out loud at Johnny's comment.

Slowly shaking his head, Oliver arose from his seat and wandered back over to the intercom. Pressing the button, he waited.

"Yes Master Polanski?"

"Jaque?"

"Yes sir?"

"Fix me a new drink... Vodka."

"...Yes, my lord." He could practically hear the smile in his chief of staff's voice.

"Mix it with Pepsi-...Oh fuck it, Jaque make me a cosmo."

"Right away, your Majesty."

The boys at the table laughed. Then they kept eating, talked about possibly getting their rep to call Dickenson and schedule a tune-up match against the BladeBreakers. Things were getting dull around here, after all.

Yes... Getting better as a team they were. Oliver looked at his friends and in them now he saw more of the warriors they were, then they ever seemed to be when holding a sword, a shield or a beyblade. Yes...

Those little things...

"Oh, and Oliver?"

"Uh, yeah, Johnny?"

"Don't talk about quittin' the team when we're so damn close to beating the BladeBreakers. Don't do that. Say it again and I'll punch you so hard in the balls that gay or not you won't be of use to anybody. Got that?"

"Yes, Jonathon. ...Of course."

Oh those little things.


End file.
